Tinseled Every Way
by ADiamondoraButterfly
Summary: It's Erik and Christine's first Christmas together, and Erik is worried that his new bride is behaving strangely. Christmas dribble. Mix of ALW and Leroux influences. Note: Not affiliated plotwise with The Angel Descends or my other phics. :)


**The idea of having a Christmas tree in one's home didn't start spreading through France until 1870-1871. So there's a good chance that movie-universe Erik wouldn't have heard of this tradition, considering he'd been quite literally living under a rock.**

 **Let us investigate, shall we?**

 **We find our fated lovers at home one winter's morning a few weeks before Christmas. Erik comes upstairs to the parlor and finds his angel being even more peculiar than usual…**

* * *

Ten months they had been married, he reflected happily. Ten months! - It hardly seemed like ten days!

Stockholm agreed with them both, and Christine had proved very easy to be married to. She was infinitely patient, seldom out of humor, eager to laugh, always thinking of infinite numbers of little loving gestures she could do for him. He had fallen in love first with her kindness, and she had never disappointed him in that regard - or indeed in any other.

Crucially, she had proved to be a worthy chess partner. He always beat her eventually, but she could at least draw a match with him out long enough for things to get interesting, and once or twice she had even put his king truly in jeopardy.

It was all that was necessary to complete her perfection in his eyes.

They could not go out together, of course, so they must have something to do in their evenings together, and between music and chess (and other activities), they were never bored.

And now it was the first of December and they were about to celebrate their first Christmas as husband and wife.

There must be some flaw, he thought. Theirs wasn't a real marriage; it couldn't possibly be - it was too idyllic, like something out of a storybook. Something must go wrong.

He didn't have to wait long.

* * *

A _tree._ That morning he emerged from his music-room to find their small parlor crammed with an enormous evergreen, a splendid fir that must have been ten feet tall. Its branches filled almost the whole room, obscuring all their furniture, save for one seat on the sofa. A tree! Indoors!

He stared at this peculiar apparition for some moments in silence.

"My dear?" he called when at length he could speak. "My dear? There is… a tree in our house."

Christine suddenly appeared at his shoulder, looking like an angel in a pale-blue dress. As always, his heart skipped when he saw her.

"Good morning, älskling!" she said, laughing happily, as though she thought his surprise was an act, a joke. "Isn't it lovely?"

His heart sank. What was happening? "You put it there, then?"

"Yes! I'm so glad I got it up before you came upstairs; I wanted to surprise you."

 _You certainly did!_ he thought, but it didn't seem right to say that. "Good Heavens," he remarked instead.

She didn't seem to notice his confusion. "I put it up quite on my own - and I ran a plumb line and I will have you know it is straight as a ramrod; I'm terribly proud! It wasn't as heavy as I thought it would be," she rattled on. He had seldom heard her say so many words at one time. "Isn't it pretty? Your wife is a very clever woman, I must say."

He felt like the room was spinning around him. How long had she been like this? Had it been coming on for a long time, and he, stupid, selfish brute that he was, simply had not noticed? Or had it been sudden?

Whatever the case, he must be gentle and understanding. She had always been so gentle and understanding with him with all his peculiarities, his ill humors, the nights when he woke up shaking and screaming. Now, it was his turn to help her.

"Yes, of course, very clever. It is… very pretty indeed," he said in what he hoped was an understanding voice. "Er - how long have you... wanted to do this?" Information. He needed to gather all the information he could.

Christine looked at her peculiar husband in confusion. "Well, I couldn't do it last year," she said. Was that what he was asking? "There wasn't enough room in my little appartement, naturally - you saw the size of it. Now that we have a house that is big enough, I could not resist. I'm so glad it has room for a tree!"

"Of course," Erik said in bewilderment. "How very... er... practical."

To his further bewilderment, she produced a stepladder, unfolded it, and climbed to the top so that her head was almost even with the top of the tree. "Here, would you help me untangle this?" she said, throwing a wad of tinsel at him. "We must decorate it together!"

He caught it mechanically in one hand. "Must we?" he said, though he obeyed, thinking it best to humor her.

She give him a quizzical look. "Of course."

He began to disentangle the silvery strands. They were nowhere near as convoluted as his own thoughts, nowhere near as difficult to work out as the problem that now confronted him.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Christine hummed happily to herself, some Christmas tune, still oblivious to his unease.

"Mon rêve," he ventured at length, "Are you… happy?"

She beamed at him and bent down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I am married to the man I adore and we are about to have our first Christmas together."

"Ah... then that is a yes?" he ventured.

She laughed. "Of course. I am delirious with happiness."

The choice of words unnerved him. His hands paused. "Your Erik, he makes you happy?"

She smiled a smile that practically dazzled him. "Incandescently."

"He hasn't made you… unhappy?"

She looked down at him sadly. "No, älskling. He never could."

"Nothing is… troubling you?"

"I can truly say I have not a care in the world." She paused. "Why do you say that?"

Was it too soon to bring it up? "Ah… for no particular reason," he said, striving unsuccessfully for a casual tone.

"Is something troubling _you_ , Erik?" She looked down at him, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"No… no…"

"Very well," she said uncertainly.

There was an awkward pause.

"How long do you intend to… ah… leave this here?" he ventured at length.

"Well, until New Years' Day at least, of course."

"New Years', mon rêve!" he cried, losing what was left of his composure. "But that is weeks away yet!" He thought with horror of a dried-out tree sitting near the fireplace, just waiting to burst into flame.

"Yes," she said, "but I hope it will still be green for a least a week after that."

"Can you be sure of that?" he prodded gently.

She turned to him, on the verge of being annoyed for the first time. "Yes, Monsieur Correct, and that is quite enough from you. I know what I am doing, I _shall_ have a tree, and it will stay here at least until New Years', and I won't be gainsaid."

Oh dear, Erik thought. This was going to be even more difficult than he had feared.

"Have you seen the matches?" Christine said, cutting into his thoughts. "I know I left them around here somewhere."

His blood ran cold. "Matches?"

"Yes. They're in a blue sleeve - I just had it a moment ago-"

"-But whatever for?" He spotted the blue sleeve and swiftly palmed it before she could notice.

"-What do you suppose?" she laughed, patting her dress, though it did not have pockets. "For the candles."

He froze. "The candles, Christine?"

"It wasn't cheap getting enough for such a big tree, but I knew you wouldn't mind."

"Ah- ah- Well-" He couldn't speak.

"I thought we could light the rest together tonight," she said. "What do you think? It will be terribly romantic. Candlelight is seductive, don't you think? Why, in the candlelight I think you could persuade me to do almost anything." She smiled suggestively at him, but in his state he had no capacity for the subtleties of flirtation, and the suggestion simply flew over his head and sailed off to land in some distant field.

"Candles?" he managed at last.

She laughed, unbothered that her attempt at seduction had failed - Erik, being the reclusive man he was, very often failed to notice when she was trying to make overtures to him, and she had long since grown accustomed to it. "Yes, älskling. Why do you keep saying that?"

Great God, Erik thought, this was even worse than he had feared. She wanted to burn down the house. She wanted to destroy everything around her. She wanted to wreck her life. That must be why she had married him. He should have seen it all along. "Christine… mon rêve… ma vie… I am sorry I did not see…"

She stopped decorating and stared at him in confusion, surprised by the sudden intensity of his tone. "See what? My Erik, are you well?"

Miserably, he tossed the tinsel aside on the sofa. "Perhaps it is not right to say anything; I hardly know anymore, Christine, but I must-" He seized her hand. "This is unsafe. For me and… for you, Christine."

"Unsafe?"

"It is a fire hazard! Christine! Can you not see that?" He winced. He'd sounded angry when he was merely afraid.

"Oh, Erik, honestly - I know you how love to worry about every little thing, but you can't deny me this," she laughed. "Our first tree."

 _First?_ How many were there to be? "I think I must prevent it," he said in a tired, miserable, frightened voice. "This is not 'any little thing'. And perhaps you ought to... speak to someone about this… new inclination you have developed."

"Speak to someone about it?" she echoed blankly. "Inclination?"

"I will find the best possible person," he swore. "The price is unimportant."

"Thank you… but I don't… I am not unwell."

"No, but you perhaps are, ah..." He struggled to find a word. "Disoriented, or…"

"I'm not sure I'm understanding you," she said. "I am in my right mind. I trust you don't think otherwise?"

"No, of course… I know it, Christine, and I shall make sure they see that. I mean to see you well-taken care of. I shan't let them lock you away, my Christine, you have my word."

"Yes, I know you wouldn't - but for what, älskling? For what?" Somewhere in the back of Christine's brain she began to realize they must have stumbled across yet another thing about normal human life that her dear, her wonderful, her poor sweet confused lovely Erik didn't understand. Curious, how he had endured horrors almost beyond imagination, seen every kind of evil that man was capable of, and yet in some ways he was as innocent as a child.

"Well… for… this!" he gestured, his words beginning to break down under the strain. "Tree, and candles… fire… and… Christine, I shall give you anything else you like, anything you ask for, but this is…"

Suddenly her face changed, understanding at last. "My dear fellow, I hesitate to ask, but… haven't you ever seen anyone do this before?"

"No!" At last he couldn't contain himself anymore. "Who would do this? It is… it is…"

"Why, plenty of people do!" She stared at him. Then, "Oh, my poor dear! Don't you know?- It's the _custom_!"

The light began to dawn in his mind, though it seemed too good to be true, that there could be a satisfactory explanation. "The… custom?"

"Yes," she said. "Everyone has them in Sweden, and Prussia and England. I don't know if there's a French word for it; they didn't have them in France for the longest time but I think they're finally starting to catch on in Paris since the war. But they'll be going up around Stockholm soon, in the parks, and store windows - you could go see them."

His mind was whirling, still in shock. "But... But… I don't understand... What is the purpose?"

"I'm sure I don't know." She laughed. "Something about the evergreen symbolizing the eternal life of the Christ-child, I think. I never really questioned it. There's no point in trying to understand tradition. Didn't you ever see one in France?"

He sat down heavily on their worn but comfortable sofa. "I never saw them in Paris. And growing up, we certainly didn't have them in insignificant stoneworking towns outside Rouen."

"And you wanted me to see a specialist!" Christine laughed until she fell off the ladder; he had to leap up and hastily scoop her into his arms before she fell.

He tried to make for the sofa, but she was still shaking so much with laughter that he couldn't balance while carrying her. They sank to the floor.

"My poor Erik!" she cried, cradling his cheek in her hand. "Well, at least we know that you would treat me gently if I ever really did lose my mind. Though I knew that already."

He was too relieved to be bothered that she was laughing at him (if indeed she was); he simply held her, treasuring her, thinking with even greater happiness than normal of the blissful unspoiled years they would have together. She was well, she was whole and she was his.

"My dear-" she said, wiping away tears of mirth, "We have had our misunderstandings before, but this is really beyond everything! I defy anyone to produce such a scene - ha, ha, ha! - It is better than a comic-opera! - You- you-"

"-I am sorry," he said. "I should have-"

"-Oh, do not apologize!" She tried to kiss him but she was laughing too hard. "I don't know when I have laughed so much- ah, ha! Ha! Ha!" She drew in heaving gasps of air between guffaws. "Great Heavens! I can imagine how peculiar the custom must look to someone unacquainted with it… there's a- a- tree!… inside the house!… I should have produced an assortment of woodland animals to go with it… ha, ha, ha! You must have thought I was quite… he, he, he! Quite mad! A certifiable lunatic! You wouldn't be the first to think that, you know!"

"No… no… not mad," he said hastily, beginning to chuckle. "Anyone can see that you are in your right mind- merely that you were…"

"Yes?" She grinned wickedly.

"Confused, perhaps," he said.

"Confused!" She flung back her head and laughed so much she flopped over. It went on for several minutes, until she was emitting alarming honking noises and curled up in a helpless, quivering ball on the floor. "You are so gentle… You said it so gently… You are so good it is almost amusing, sometimes…"

He tried to get up but she pulled him down on top of her. He smiled, and twined his fingers into her hair.

"My poor Erik," she said, still giggling. "I really gave you a terrible fright, didn't I?"

He kissed her cheek. "You are entitled to do so every once in a while."

"Oh. Good."

"This counts for at least a year, I think."

"Yes, I think so too." She tugged at his lapels, pulling him closer and kissing him again, this time with more success.

"The tree looks very pretty," he murmured into her ear, stroking her arm.

"Thank you. I'm glad." Her hand was tugging at his cravat. "And shall we have candles?"

"Perhaps a few… carefully placed candles, as long as we keep them under close supervision."

She laughed.

He nibbled her ear - she liked it when he did that - and kissed her beautiful neck, and with a little help from her (though truth to be told, he did not require much encouragement) his hand started to find his way up her skirts. He was getting better about finding his way through the tangle of stockings and garters and petticoats. His hand met warm bare skin, and he felt her lips smile against his neck.

He was being terribly rude, he thought. Really, this was no way to behave to one's new wife. The indignity for her! He ought at least to take her upstairs. It was only decent.

Throughout their marriage, Christine had unfailingly insisted that he need not stand upon ceremony with her, that there was hardly a time or a place when she would not be interested in his attentions. But he stubbornly kept their most intimate interludes confined to their bedroom. (It was his bedroom, technically, but when he had insisted that hers remain her private refuge, she had joined him every night, and bit by bit her toothbrush and cosmetics and clothes had drifted in and mingled with his, and he had long since giving up trying to keep up the distinction.)

He didn't want her thinking she had to expect his embraces in every corner of the house. He wanted her to feel there was some place she didn't have to worry about that. (If one were speaking in purely objective terms, he knew she wanted him. She had never received his attentions with anything other than the greatest enthusiasm. But on another level, he could not help but feel that she might at any time suddenly become disgusted by him, appalled with herself for wanting him, letting him touch her.)

But today he was so weak with relief that things were different. He felt lighter, somehow, more carefree. More like a newlywed husband ought to feel with his new bride just before Christmas. After today, he had more of a belief that their love was good, that perhaps things could all turn out for the best for them after all.

Besides, she had already undone his waistcoat - really, how had she managed it so fast? Was she a magician as well as a soprano? - and her hands were making short work of his shirt. The feel of her body pressed against his was too much to resist.

It seemed they didn't need the candlelight after all.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading!**

 **Merry Christmas for those who celebrate. Do you put up a tree / light candles in your home this time of year?**

 **Love you all!**


End file.
